


Pillow Talk

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [82]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Childhood Memories, M/M, Musicians, Naked Cuddling, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for Firsts prompt: <i>Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard, first time he played the guitar.</i></p><p>In which John and Rodney share their musical origins during some post-coital cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

Rodney’d never been much for cuddling. Out of bed, he preferred to keep his hands busy working on compositions or playing games on his tablet, or just messing around at the piano. In bed, he preferred to have his own space for sleeping.

John was a cuddler.

This came as a surprise because Rodney could see how John kept himself at arm’s length from other people. He was just as surprised to discover that he didn’t mind cuddling with John.

The best time was post-coitus, after they’d cleaned themselves up and John was still feeling loose and happy. Rodney could broach any subject during that window of time, and John would usually give sleepy, but honest, answers. Like now, when John was curled around him like a bass clef, one hand splayed on Rodney’s stomach.

“Hey,” Rodney murmured into John’s hair. “When did you start playing guitar?”

John didn’t answer right away, but Rodney didn’t mind waiting. He practiced a one-handed composition up and down John’s knobby spine.

“You first,” John finally said. “Why music? You’re a genius, you could’ve been a scientist or something. Found the cure for cancer.”

Rodney huffed out a laugh. “You think they don’t already have one? There’s more money in cancer research and treatment than in a cure.”

“I had no idea you were a conspiracy theorist. Or are you just that cynical?”

“Cynical,” Rodney replied. 

“So why music instead of rocket science?”

“I like music because it has structure.” Rodney had the answer readily at hand, because it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question. Jeannie had pestered him endlessly about it, when he’d switched out of the science track at school. “Only twelve notes, not counting sharps and flats, but they can be arranged in an infinite variety of ways. Twelve notes to express every aspect of the human experience.”

There was a beauty in the structure that Rodney was hard-pressed to put into words. It was the same thing he liked about scientific formulas, and math equations. There was an order to it all that appealed to him, maybe because his family life growing up had been such chaos.

“And piano?” John pressed a kiss to Rodney’s clavicle.

“Ms. Greenblatt.” Rodney would never be able to say her name without scowling; it was an ingrained response. “My mother signed me up for piano lessons with her, to counteract all the academics that my father insisted on. She told me I had technical skill, but no heart. She said I couldn’t express any emotion, and was better off giving up playing all together.”

That got John up on one elbow, his expression incredulous. “Was she _insane_? The way you play…it’s amazing. And _not_ just technically.”

Rodney gave him a quick kiss on the mouth for the compliment, warmed that John thought so highly of his skill.

“Well, I essentially told her to fuck off – not in those words, obviously – and I found a new teacher. I learned everything I could about music, and playing piano. So here I am, teaching at the Conservatory and playing in a Blues club.” He was proud of what he’d achieved. “Never tell a McKay they can’t do something.”

John chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was more kissing then, slow and lazy and sweet, and Rodney thought maybe he might be able to work up the energy for another go-round. John was excellent for his libido. But first things first.

“So now it’s your turn. How young were you when you started playing?”

John settled back down, though his hand was now traveling a path from Rodney’s hip down to his thigh, and back again.

“I don’t remember it, but family history says I got my first guitar when I was two. It was supposedly a gift from Arlo Guthrie.”

“Wow. Your mom really knew a lot of famous musicians.”

John shrugged. “I guess. She used to tell people that I picked up the guitar and immediately started to play the chorus from _Lush Summer_. Child prodigy. I guess the earliest memory I have of playing was when I was five or six. Mom had a party at the house, lots of people from the music business and some random friends she met while she was touring. The house was packed.”

Rodney tried to picture that. Grace King had been part of a the music scene during a volatile time in America, her place in the annals of musical history assured thanks to her popular anti-war songs, and a well-publicized visit to Vietnam shortly before US troops had been pulled out. It was hard to imagine what it would be like to grow up with Grace King for a mother, with friends like Paul Simon and Jerry Garcia just dropping by to hang out, or maybe jam.

“Mom had me come out and play for her friends, but I was too nervous. So we played together, her and I. _In the Wind_ , I think. And I just watched her the whole time, instead of looking down at my hands like I normally did, and I didn’t make a single mistake.”

John’s voice held the dreamy, wistful quality of a man lost in memory.

“She was so beautiful when she sang. She put everything into a song, whether or not it was one she’d written herself. Singing with her was like being part of something magic.”

Rodney wondered what would’ve happened if Grace hadn’t died. Would John have gone into the music business himself? Would they have become a mother-son duo? Would Rodney have met John at all?

“I’m glad you’re playing again,” Rodney said. He didn’t know why John had given it up, that was a question for another time, but the man had a talent that shouldn’t have been wasted.

“Me, too.” John nipped at Rodney’s shoulder, and his hand moved across Rodney’s limp cock, which twitched at the contact. “Speaking of playing again…”

What the hell. It was Friday night, and Rodney didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning. He slipped his hand down John’s back and grabbed a handful of his narrow ass.

John needed no further encouragement. And it turned out Rodney had the energy after all.


End file.
